


Yard Department

by madxviolet



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Choking, Humiliation, M/M, restriction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9880037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madxviolet/pseuds/madxviolet
Summary: Michael Scofield claimed he didn't do it. But Theodore Bagwell didn't care.Justice for Maytag's death would only add icing to the cake when Teddy was finally able to take that bite he'd been denied.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this took me a bit longer than anticipated because I had to watch Legends Of Tomorrow (even though I have no idea about anything DCU except Chris Nolan's Batman series) and I. Got. Completely. Obsessed. So I had to watch the whole first season and all of season 2 that's up, and find some coldwave fic immediately.
> 
> This one gets kinda rough for Michael, and I wasn't sure where I was going until it was going and then all the sudden Bellick was there.
> 
> thanks for checking out this oddly turned up piece! xoxo

Theodore Bagwell had built up a certain presence during his time at Fox River State Penitentiary. He didn't like newcomers trying to challenge that, it made him seem weak. He'd already had enough problems with John Abruzzi stepping on his toes like he had the right, just because he was somebody on the outside. Bagwell frowned in his cell as he patted the empty bed with gently trembling hands. It had only been a few nights, but T-Bag didn't do cold and lonely. Aside from his basic human need for physical appreciation, he really did miss the pleasure of another person to talk to and be with. That actual sadness made it more difficult for T-Bag to simply forget who'd prompted him suffer through any feelings in the first place.

The night before Maytag's death he and Bagwell fought. T-Bag slammed a fist against the concrete wall of his cell and curled himself up on top of his bunk remembering the jealousy that bubbled in the tiny space the more the older con mused on all the things he wanted to do to Michael Scofield. Maytag had snapped at T-Bag, raising his voice on how he wanted Michael dead. T-Bag remembered the open palm across Maytag's face in response to that comment. Now Maytag was dead at Michael's hand. Michael Scofield claimed he didn't do it. But Theodore Bagwell didn't care.  


Apart from the blood lusted revenge T-Bag felt towards Scofield now, he couldn't ignore that gnawing, covetous feeling that spread like rampant fire throughout his entire body whenever Michael crossed his criminal mind. Especially after he'd extended Michael an invitation to accept his terms and had been dismissed in front of everyone. A proudly admitted rapist, murderer, and twisted kink, T-Bag felt aroused by causing pain, just in general. That savage marriage of hate and greed that pumped through his veins the more he obsessed over totally owning Michael Scofield made his nether regions tingle constantly. Justice for Maytag's death would only add icing to the cake when Teddy was finally able to take that bite he'd been publicly denied.

 

 

T-Bag had to pace himself. He'd heard that Michael was “a genius” but had to admit that it was true when Michael had warmed up to Abruzzi and his crew. He had found protection, knowing that Abruzzi was the only person T-Bag paused at messing with. It was difficult to get Michael alone. Fortunately for those who liked to slither below the law that'd supposedly already locked them up, Brad Bellick was in charge on the night shift. And he didn't like Michael Scofield either.

There was a whistle from beyond the bars and Bagwell looked up to see Bellick. The greasy shit-eating grin on his face told Bagwell that everything was in place. The cell door slid open and T-Bag bounded out like a puppy getting ready for a walk as he cracked his neck from side to side, his signature tongue flickering over his thin lips as he followed Bellick down A-wing and out to the yard.

“Lucky you, Tancredi had some business today so Scofield's little testosterone shots had to be pushed back.” T-Bag couldn't help but beam widely, he'd always liked Brad. He was always willing to bend the rules for him for the right price.

“Well that _is_ good news,” Theodore concured in his smooth Southern drawl.

“Geary should be bringing him down pretty soon, you wait here. We'll give you ten minutes, Bagwell, you got it?” Bellick showed Bagwell into the Yard Department building and stepped back.

  


A nod and a smile and T-Bag was rubbing his hands together eagerly. He felt excited like when he'd been a free man stalking his prey without them knowing. Watching every movement until the right time and then he would pounce. This particular time was a little different, like it was being gift-wrapped or he'd been sitting at a nice table in a nice place, waiting for his feast. But it didn't make him any less hard. Three long and insatiable days without a playmate was beginning to weigh heavy on such an already unstable temperament. Bagwell licked his lips again with anticipation and sat himself atop the table against the wall.  


Geary and Bellick brought Michael into the room, each holding one arm. His eyes widened when he saw Bagwell's sinister smirk and he began to struggle. Michael dug the heels of his boots into the ground and pulled on his limbs like a kid throwing a tantrum against disciplinary parents. Bellick snickered and kicked the door closed behind them. Like a caught animal Michael thrashed wildly and struck Geary in the face. His grip failed a little, but he didn't drop him. Bellick backhanded Michael with a closed fist but he kept fighting. Surely he knew what was going to happen if he didn't escape this.  


Bellick brandished his club over Michael's head after pulling it from its holster with one hand and Scofield fell to the floor. Dazed, he tried to calibrate himself and made to get up again. Michael's single advantage in this fight was the fact that he was bigger than all three of these men. But only slightly. He was outnumbered, and on the ground he couldn't much play his only card. The officers who'd trained for these types of situations knew this well. Bellick placed his steel-toed boot firmly to the back of Michael's neck, forcing him to the ground at an awkwardly uncomfortable angle. For a few moments Michael's vision went black as the contact splintered through his bones like lightning and his brain jostled in his skull.

  


“Cuff him,” Bellick ordered Geary as he continued to pin Michael down. Geary only gawked with surprise that matched Michael's own when he'd first entered the shed.

“I thought we were just gonna-” he started, but Bellick glared and barked the order again louder.

Geary looked down on Michael with hesitation but produced his handcuffs. He wrestled through Michael's wounded efforts and got his arms bound behind his back. Bellick didn't yet remove the sole of his shoe from the reddened nape of Michael's neck. T-Bag could make out a small crimson pool beginning to blossom onto the treated cement floor from beneath Michael's face and his eyes glittered. He couldn't keep himself from sighing a romantic, wistful sigh.

“Oh, I have dreamed of this since the moment I met you. You really are the prettiest thing I have ever seen, Scofield. All tremblin' and shakin' like a blue-eyed doe in my headlights just waitin' to be plowed down,” T-Bag sneered through gritted teeth as his voice dipped to that sinister rumble he adopted just before he did something despicable.

  


Michael's bravado took a hit when that statement met his current situation and tears threatened to flow as he squeezed his eyes shut. Michael coughed and wheezed as Bellick's weight fell harder on his windpipe. His whole chest burned, both from lack of oxygen and a raw type of humiliation that Michael had never felt before. He couldn't bear to meet stares with T-Bag, but he had to try and appeal to him somehow. He couldn't tell him about the escape with Bellick and Geary there but he didn't have any other leverage. He forced himself to look up at his captor and speak through the harsh veil created by Bellick's boot.

“Theodore, please don't do this,” Michael managed. T-Bag's eyes slipped closed and he released a low, pleased hum.  


“Ah ah, Pretty. You should know that beggin' for mercy only gets my juices flowin'. Now gentlemen, I believe the clock is tickin', so if you will.” T-Bag motioned toward the doorway with his hand. “We was promised a fifteen minute honeymoon.”

 

 

Bellick stepped off after what seemed like an eternity and Michael made one final attempt to get away from the inevitable, but Bellick and Geary gladly helped him to his feet. Dizzy from the shakedown, Michael could hardly try to resist much anymore. But he couldn't imagine going down at the hands of Theodore Bagwell without at least trying. The officers bent him over the table where T-Bag was sitting and Michael could feel Geary release him.  


“Ten, Bagwell, and I'm stayin',” Bellick announced as he tightened around Michael's elbow. “You got quite a mouth on you, Scofield. I'm gonna teach it some respect. You in, Geary?”  


T-Bag seemed put out, but he didn't show it any more than huffing a heavily annoyed snort through his nose. Geary remained silent, not wanting to participate but unwilling to come to Michael's defense. There was a tense delay before Michael heard the door handle squeak when it turned. Michael felt his breath depleting as his lungs grew crowded with fear.  
  
“I'll watch out,” Geary said quietly before the heavy metal barrier sealed Michael's fate.

  


Michael felt Bellick's fingers in the belt loops on his pants and the collar of his shirt and he picked him up, folding Michael so that he was displayed diagonally over the corner of the table. His head hanging off of one side and his back half off the other, Michael knew where this was going and he felt his composure leave him. A stream of tears began to streak his face as he tugged uselessly on the handcuffs cutting at his wrists. This only seemed to delight both Bagwell and Bellick and they exchanged a laugh.  


“Not feelin' so tough anymore are ya, Fishy?” Bellick hissed as he bent down over Michael's face.

 

Michael heard unzipping of Bellick's pants and his belt being unclasped and a pathetic string of sobs escaped his control. The sensation of hands on his hips made Michael shake with terror. T-Bag pulled sharply and Michael felt the rush of cold air on his naked flesh. He began to squirm in protest as he felt the homicidal maniac behind him groping with hungry grasps. Bagwell's skin against his own felt like acid and nausea rose in the pit of Michael's stomach. The contact seared him when T-Bag grabbed Michael's flaccid dick from beneath him and gave him a few rough yanks. Michael began to fight on instinct.

 

“Now, Pretty, why don't you relax a bit. It'd make this a lot easier on me, what with our time frame.” Theodore cooed as he painted precome up the back of Michael's thigh to the swell of his buttock. Michael kicked his legs back at T-Bag's shins to retaliate and felt Bellick's club across his ailing throat.  


“Or I can beat ya senseless and we can party without you,” Bellick added as he patted Michael's head with his other hand before turning it toward him while he put pressure on the nightstick.

  


Michael's blood ran cold when Bellick relieved his hold. He didn't want Bellick's hands free to continue any further. The youngest man's cries intensified as Bagwell had readied himself at his ass, grinding his cock in the crease while he squeezed Michael's left hipbone with firm, piercing fingers. With his other arm T-Bag petted Michael's back underneath his clothes and Michael spread his nearest hand, clawing at Bagwell's wrist. Michael dug his fingernails in as hard as he could and dragged as far as the cuffs would allow. Bagwell jerked back and yelped in pain before slapping Michael hard as punishment and stabbing his way inside, Michael completely unprepared. When his mouth fell open, Bellick pushed his way in.

 

“You bite me at all, I'm gonna knock out every single one a them pearly whites, you understand?” Bellick warned as he pried Michael's jaws apart and forced him to nod his head. “Good girl,” he chuckled.

  


Michael choked as Bellick removed himself and reached up to collect a long rope of saliva mixed with his bodily fluids that still hung from Michael's lips before slicking his length with it. He held Michael's head still while he prodded his face again. Michael's only distraction was the blistering pain that ripped him apart as T-Bag pushed his way deeper then tore himself out without preparing him in any way. Bagwell spat into his palm and grabbed Michael's cock, holding it with his own while he jerked himself off and draped his weight over Michael's back.

“I knew you'd end up fallin' for me,” Bagwell snarled as Michael's body reacted naturally to the touch despite the circumstance. “Mmm, that's a nice shade a lipstick, sugar,” he spat against Michael's stuffed cheek, pointing out the fact that Michael's mouth still bled on Bellick's dick as he sodomized it.

Though he was somewhat ready for it this time, it didn't hurt Michael's pride any less when Bagwell jammed himself back in and started pumping furiously. The anger palpable as he drove Michael's body into the coarse edge of the wood beneath them, Michael couldn't help but moan as T-Bag ground into his prostate. The sound reverberated and Bellick groaned in answer as he pressed Michael's mouth closer to his pelvis. Michael felt he would throw up when Bellick wrenched himself from his mouth and laid his balls across his face.

  


“You been holdin' out on me, Pretty! Doesn't feel like this is your first time bein' ridden like a racehorse, now is it?” Bagwell taunted as he hit on Michael's spot repeatedly, fucking desperate, involuntary keens from Michael's throat against Bellick's nutsack.

 

Bellick reintroduced himself to Michael's tongue and held his hand over his nose, suffocating him as he gagged his mouth. Panic spread throughout the victim as he felt himself growing faint the longer Bellick deprived him of air. T-Bag pressed on the tender bruises decorating the back of Michael's neck as he pounded him into the tabletop and Michael could hear his miserably muffled complaints fading to echoes off the walls of his emptying mind. T-Bag's grunts and rigid poking from behind him urged Michael to slip into unconsciousness so that he wouldn't have to be present when both men worked themselves up to orgasm. But he would have no such luck.  


A rescuing breath washed unwelcomed over Michael as Bellick pulled himself from his face and he let go of his head so that it hung limply underneath T-Bag's hand. The sour and metallic coating in his mouth had Michael feeling like he would vomit again and he spit as much of the taste as he could to the floor. Bellick practically giggled. Michael viced his eyes tighter, for the first time realizing that he'd also been whitening his knuckles so hard that he could no longer feel his hands while he tried to remain perfectly still. He didn't want to add anything to it for T-Bag who was still hammering himself balls deep inside of him.

 

Michael was flooded by his own weeping while Bagwell was spilling hotly like molten lava, burning away the remainder of Michael's dignity. Bagwell whined and bucked his hips forward, milking every last drop while he stroked Michael's body down from neck to ribs with both palms, going over his arms when he had to. T-Bag gloated by snaking his tongue slowly behind Michael's ear before he pulled himself out and clapped Michael's ass one more time.  


“That was positively delicious, Michael.” The sound of his name seething like a dirty word from Bagwell's lips made the color drain from Michael's face and he felt a cold sweat beading across his forehead. “You interested in some lukewarm pussy, Bellick?” T-Bag jeered as he inserted his index, middle and ring, pressing on Michael's perineum with his thumb while he coiled his fingertips against Michael's sensitive interior. Michael whimpered and let out a hoarse gasp as he begged his dick not to comply with T-Bag's teasing but to no avail.

  


Bellick only guffawed as he quickened his pace, jacking himself off with both hands across Michael's face. He pursed his lips when the thick strands struck him from his lashes to his chin. Bellick smeared his result like lipgloss up the seam and pushed into Michael's throat. Tightening his eyelids again when Michael felt Bellick's cock cleaning up the rest of his jizz, Michael sewed his mouth shut in defiance. Bellick pried with both hands and began to fuck the back of his head lazily, but quick enough that Michael's throat began to reject him.  


“Nah ah, Scofield, swallow it up,” Bellick encouraged as he twisted Michael's head and forced him to take it all down.

Bellick reached for a roll of paper towels that'd been underneath the table and proceeded to clean himself up before settling his pants around his waist and buckling his belt back together. T-Bag had edged Michael just until he was feeling that slow steady heat in his groin then removed his digits. He brought them to Michael's mouth and slipped them in before leaning down to Michael's cheekbone. He dropped light kisses across Michael's jawline until he got to his lips and ensnared him with his wetted fingers.

“We'll be seeing each other again real soon, babydoll.” T-Bag backed off and Bellick finally replaced Michael's clothing and stood him up.

  


Bellick offered Michael a towel but spread a smile across his face while he raised his eyebrows. “Forgot, you're a bit tied up at the moment.” He wiped Michael's mouth and collected the napkins, stuffing them into his pocket.

“You know, Bagwell had me put in a transfer order for you... He's got an empty bed now,” Bellick said matter-of-factly as he went to the door and tapped on it. Geary swung it open and came inside, getting his keys ready to undo the handcuffs and let Michael free.

Michael couldn't react as he hardly held himself up against the table behind him. Every sense was overwrought recognizing the vivid ache that shot up his spine and collected at his shoulders, the sting in his joints when his arms fell to his sides, the horrific and stale tang that lingered on his tastebuds, the smell of _T-Bag_ still thick in the room. Bellick seemed disappointed that it didn't garner any rebuttal, but he kept on _._

“Don't worry, Princess. For whatever reason, Pope's got eyes on you. He won't let it go through.” Bellick and Geary took Michael's arms again and began to lead him from the tool shed. “But you gotta see Tancredi everyday, and somebody's gotta bring you back home. I think I'm gonna make that my special task from now on.”

 

Bellick began to whistle as the officers dragged a broken Michael back into A-wing and threw him into his cell.


End file.
